Innocence Like the Lamb
by Hannibal the Animal
Summary: Prequel to "Serial Killers in Heat". Done as a Halloween fic for 2009. WARNINGS: Violence, Cruelty, Death, Adult Situations.
1. When Olivia was Eight

Olivia is eight when the teachers finally admit out loud that she's just not normal. The kid on the playground who didn't want to join the others. The kid who stood watching without emotion when little Billy Emerson cracked his skull in gym. The kid who shows incredible violence in silly schoolyard scuffles. The kid who wears long sleeves and pants all year round, even though the school nurse said she couldn't see any signs of abuse. All of her teachers, kindergarten through second grade, are uncomfortable around her but there isn't anything that anyone could really say, just "_doesn't socialise well with others_", "_aggressive attitude and temper_", and "_is she having a hard time at home?_"

The final straw comes the day the second grade classroom guinea pig is found in its cage, squealing in the most horrible way because its little legs have been cut off with Mrs MacAfee's 'adults only' scissors. Everyone knows Olivia did it—no one doubts that for a second. The teacher's aide, principal, and assorted faculty members hunt her down and find her comfortably relaxed in the school library; she was reading in encyclopedia about human anatomy, sitting on the floor between two rows of bookshelves—her hands still have the guinea pig's bitemarks freshly bleeding. She's dragged back to the school councilor's office and her mother is called, though Ms Dunham can't show up for another few hours, so they have to let Olivia sit at one of the children's chairs and continue reading about the human body.

When Ms Dunham finally arrives, she's pissed and fuming, raising her voice at the secretary until she storms into the councilor's office, her purse swinging wildly while her suede jacket is making her sweat. Olivia looks up from her encyclopedia long enough to glare at her mother, who shoots back the same frigid stare.

The councilor gestures for Ms Dunham to sit down on the orangey-brown leather couch as the principal joins them. Olivia decides to keep reading about the larynx and windpipe.

"Ms Dunham, we've called in this meeting to discuss the incident that happened today in school," the councilor says in an overly friendly way, obviously trying to calm the woman down.

"Has she hit someone again?" Ms Dunham said sourly.

"I only hit Jimmy because he wouldn't let me sit in the sandbox by myself," Olivia snaps.

Her mother ignores her. "What did she do this time?"

The principal sighs and says in a very dramatic way, "She cut off Mr Wiggles' legs."

Ms Dunham looked between the two men, the impact lost on her. "What's Mr Wiggles?"

"Mr Wiggles was the classroom guinea pig. They had to put it down."

"Olivia Leeann Dunham, I swear to god—" her mother snarls at her then turns back to the two men. "She's always been like this! I don't understand where she gets it from! Her little snot attitude—"

"Ms Dunham—" the councilor tries to interject.

"Just a stuck up little brat. Ungrateful," she sneers, her eyes boring into the eight year old.

Olivia slams the encyclopedia shut. "Whores shouldn't be allowed to have children! Kids should have a mother and father—"

"Ms Dunham—" the principal warns as her mother jumps off the couch to stomp over to her.

"Please!" the councilor pleads.

The room is silenced as Ms Dunham's hand smacks across Olivia's cheek; while getting hit isn't new to Olivia, she is a little stunned her mother did it in public—normally she's very careful not to attract attention.

The principal quickly grabs Olivia by the hand and leads her out of the office. "Olivia, why don't you go sit out here?"

She's hardly surprised that no one is actually concerned that she's been hit across the face—these adults don't actually care about children, they just make themselves feel better by saying they do. The principal seats her with a very forced smile before hurrying back into the councilor's office. Olivia takes one look at the busy secretary's back to her and quietly climbs out of her seat to press her ear to the door.

"I don't normally do that—you have to understand. But sometimes she just… well, you heard."

The principal clears his throat to break the uncomfortable silence. "Ms Dunham, your daughter has some unusually conservative views compared to you and your other daughter, Rachel. Do you have any idea why that is?"

She can hear her mother give an irritated sigh. "It started when she learned to read. For a while we were living in motels and in a motel room there are only two things to read: the bible and the phonebook. She's never liked TV—you ever hear of kid not liking TV? Anyway, Olivia liked reading and once she became bored with the phonebook, she started reading the bible."

"So is she religious?" the councilor asks, sounding confused.

Her mother snorts. "No! Just a weirdo."

"Ms Dunham, how would you feel about sending Olivia to a special camp that helps children like her?" the principal inquires.

Ms Dunham sounds skeptical. "You mean a place that can fix her?"

"She'll be rehabilitated. She'll be just like her sister when they're done with her," the councilor insists quickly.

Olivia grimaces when she hears her mother digging through her purse for her cheque book. "How much does it cost?"

* * *

Olivia sits at the back of the empty Camp New Start bus, her hands clutching her books tightly. She has Emily Post's Pocket Guide to Etiquette, Audubon's Guide to Florida's Birds, and the book of children's rhymes that Rach gave her. While Olivia didn't read children's rhymes, her sister loves the book and was insistent she take it.

It was a day and a half since the councilor and principal talked with her mother. It had been settled immediately because the camp was looking for difficult cases to do pro-bono to show how well their techniques worked and the fact that Olivia was a girl was an instant in.

The rules for what can and can't be brought to Camp New Start are very strict and because the bible is considered one of Olivia's "triggers" she's been restricted from having one. She also doesn't have to bring clothes because she'll be assigned a uniform so her little duffle bag tucked into the storage compartment under the bus on has socks, underwear, and the required family photos that will be used in therapy. She was also permitted to have a deck of cards and of course the three books in her lap.

There's only one other passenger to be picked up here at the airport, a little blond boy who looks nervous and Olivia sizes him up instantly; he'll be no threat to her, something small and soft, a fragile creature that looked terrified to be away from his crying parents, whom she sees standing outside the bus. He's clutching a stack of bright post cards and he has a Thomas the Tank engine backpack on.

He makes his way slowly down the converted old school bus and to her dismay, sits down directly next to her.

"Hi," the boy whispers nervously and she can see his sweaty palm are warping the postcards that feature scenes of New York all across them.

"Hello," she says politely.

"So you have to go to camp, too," he says softly, mournfully.

"It's better than living with my mother." Olivia meets his eyes. "She's a whore. The bible says whores are supposed to be killed. Stoned to death."

He looks at her curiously. "Oh. Does the bible say a lot of things like that?"

"Well, they talk about cutting out eyes and hands, sometimes about killing children. I don't think children should be killed though. They are supposed to be protected. They should have a mother and a father," she insists, the grip around her stack of books tightening.

His eyes widen a bit and his long lashes bat innocently, reminding her of the fawn back home at the zoo. "Did you kill a whore?"

"No." She thinks about how her mom sent her on the plane here alone, then turns her attention to look at the boys sobbing parents, who are talking to one of the camp directors before they leave. "What are you here for?"

"I was in the subway with my nanny and I pushed a woman with a stroller in front of the subway train," he says, taking off his backpack to put at his feet.

She hasn't ever seen a real subway, so it takes her a moment to picture what she's seen on TV. "Oh. Did she die?"

"Yeah."

She bites the inside of her cheek as she thinks. "What did it look like?"

"She got everything all red," he explains and she helps him put his postcards in his backpack.

"Oh."

The little boy smiles at her with a tilt of his head. "Neat, huh?"

Olivia nods and remembers her manners, offering out her hand to him. "My name's Olivia. Olivia Dunham."

He smiles and shakes her hand enthusiastically. "I'm Nick Lane."


	2. When Peter was Eight

Peter is eight when he can stop going to hospital. He has been very, very sick the past year and while his daddy is a doctor, it's not the kind of doctor that makes his tummy feel better or fixes his arm like when he fell out of the tree in the backyard. No, Daddy is a different kind of doctor and Peter's now well enough he can live back at home. He's excited because that means he'll be back with all his toys and Rufus, their miniature collie.

He wonders if he'll be well enough to go back to school or if he has to wait. It's almost summer and he's missed most of the school year anyway. He loves getting to sleep in his own bed and can't wait to have the energy to run around in the backyard; Daddy hasn't cut the grass back there in a long time and it looks like a small jungle has sprouted up.

* * *

"Now remember, Peter," Daddy reminds him as he leads him up the stairs from the basement, "you can't tell your mother what we did today while she was out."

"What if my eyes start bleeding again?" he whispers hoarsely, feeling his father's hands on his back as he stumbles up the steps.

"They won't, they won't," Daddy assures him. "Watch the top step, son."

Peter, who thought of himself as a clever boy, hadn't realised that you could hook a car battery up to a person. It makes him wonder if he's part machine. Out of the basement and into the kitchen, Daddy is making rootbeer floats, starting with the ice cream first. Peter sits down weakly at the kitchen table, feeling very cold, pulling his pyjama sleeves over his hands as Rufus' warm tongue licks at his bare feet.

The glare of the kitchen light reflects on Daddy's spectacle lenses and Peter can't see his grey eyes behind the glass. "Two scoops, Peter?"


	3. When Olivia was Eleven

Olivia and Nick are eleven when Camp New Start opens up the beach to the campers, so eleven is the first time Olivia wears a bathing suit. The camp counselors assign all the female campers a navy blue swimsuit and all the male campers navy blue swim trunks. Olivia wears a pair of her shorts and an open shirt over her swimsuit and a huge floppy straw hat to protect her from the sun. She doesn't like feeling so exposed, but the adults at camp believe it's because she just doesn't want to get sunburned.

She and Nick hide in the shade beneath the pine trees at the edge of the lake, watching the others splash about in the calm water. She didn't ask for a towel because she doesn't want to swim, so to protect herself from the pine needles littering the ground, she realizes she'll have to take off the open shirt to sit on.

As they had walked to their vantage point, they'd talked about the therapy they've had to put up with here. Anger management, roleplay, animal therapy, colour therapy, sound and music…they've run through the full spectrum of what modern medicine has to offer. Olivia is about to ask what he thinks of the 'hot water/cold water' method that they'd had on Monday when Nick points to her up arm.

"What's that?"

She looks down, the brim of her hat hitting his nose and she looks at the small scar he's referring to. "When I was a baby, my mom needed extra money so she let some doctor perform an experimental drug test on me for extra cash. It was called Cortexiphan. I read it in my medical file I had back at school."

"You, too?" He says eyes wide and he smiles. "My parents put me in the same drug trial!"

Olivia shakes her head because that doesn't make sense to her. "But you have good parents. Why would they do that?"

He shakes his head, too. "It wasn't for money. They did it because they thought it would protect me. Like a vaccine."

"Maybe Cortexiphan is what makes us different. Makes our brain different," she offers, pleased to have found a pattern because those are what she's very good at. "I wonder how many of the other kids here have had Cortexiphan."

"We could always break into the nurse's office," he suggests.

Nick never wants to misbehave and it surprises her. "Right now?"

"Tonight!"

When the camp becomes dark and they know that the nurse is off at the main building watching tv with the rest of the staffers, she and Nick sneak out of their separate cabins and meet up behind the canteen. He's found them flashlights and they pad silently to the broken window that leads to the nurse's office's bathroom. Once inside, they go to the file cabinets but discover they're locked. Nick begins to search the desk drawers for a key while she works on the top most drawer with a bobby pin.

She finally gets it open and begins to look at the first fifty files, careful not to put anything out of place. Her eyes scan the words quickly, though she doesn't find anything.

"Olive!" Nick hisses, blinding her with his flashlight.

"What?" she snaps, very busy.

"A bible!"

She nearly drops the file in shock. "Where?"

He's grinning and holds it up. "Right here!"

"Let me have it!" she cries passionately, stumbling across the dark room to get to him.

He hands the soft cover book to her and she opens it up to her favourite part; Nick leans over her, shining his flashlight down on the pages.

"John 7:53," she starts, her voice firm and delighted. "And the scribes and Pharisees brought unto him a woman taken in adultery; and when they had set her in the midst, They say unto him, Master, this woman was taken in adultery, in the very act. Now Moses in the law commanded us, that such should be stoned."

She turns to look at him, a wild grin on her face. People thought she was wrong but it said it right here!

"Do you believe in Jesus, Olive?" he asks.

Exasperated she has to explain, she points to the page. "For thousands of years, society has said that whores are not acceptable.

He mumbles something and turns his attention back to the file cabinets while she focuses on her treasure.

"Look!"

Her eyes don't leave the pages as she imagines her mother being pelted with stones. "What?"

"There's a file here that talks that out of the hundred of us, there are three other campers here who were part of the Cortexiphan trials!"

This does manage to capture her interest. "Have any of them killed?"

"Only one. Other than me, you know." He scans over the papers. "Uhhh…set a fire and it killed the people in the next door apartment."

She smiles. "Neat."

* * *

It takes only two weeks before Olivia is discovered with the bible and after being reprimanded by scrubbing the out the showers with only a toothbrush, which takes forever and she has to do at night when everyone else is either sleeping or relaxing, she's allowed to wander around the perimeter with Nick.

She finds a long stick in the woods and drags it along the twenty-foot chain link fence—it's okay to do it with this one because it's the middle fence that's motion sensitive. As the stick makes a soft clanking noise, Nick sypathises with her.

"You know," he says kindly, "They're not really making us better. They're actually teaching us how to fit in, so we look like the rest of them. They tell us what normal humans do and if we do it too, then we look normal!"

She nods and even though she rarely does, she smiles. "All hunters need camouflage."


	4. When Peter was Eleven

Peter is eleven when the **really** awful tests start. Dad sometimes shouts at him, trying to order him to see 'the Other Side', trying to order him to hear 'the bell ringing'. Peter has no idea what his dad is talking about and with the amount of hallucinogens and electricity coursing through his body, he wonders if his dad is actually asking him about the afterlife. Sometimes the tests are done in the garage, once in the attic, but most of the time they happen in the basement where it's cold and too dark.

Peter's joints always feel stiff and his muscles sting and when they're finished Dad always makes them some kind of sweet treat, usually something Mom would never allow him to have. He's started to hate sugar.

Dad isn't always home, though. Sometimes he'll be gone the entire week before he or Mom will see him again. And when he does come home, he makes more whale shaped pancakes than the three of them can eat! And even though Peter hates the things they do together, he still misses his dad and wishes they were together more often so they could be a family.

Peter's homeschooled, which is fine with him because it means plenty of quiet time to think his thoughts and play in the sprinklers with Rufus. Mom is a really good teacher and he loves the way she claps her hands and squeals in delight when he solves calculus problems at the dining room table.

Homeschooling also makes it easier to keep his bruises and injuries hidden from people who wouldn't understand.

In the middle of being fed LSD laced coughdrops, Peter looks up at his dad, who's adjusting the straps on Peter's arms.

"Dad?"

His father glances over at him, obviously expecting more complaining about the restraints. "Yes, Peter?"

"Do you think we could go fishing together the next time you're home?"

Dad smiles at him fondly, touching his hair. "I'm afraid I have no fishing gear, son. Now get ready for the bell…"

* * *

Peter has been bleeding off and on from his ears for eight hours now; it's evening and Dad _promised_ it would stop by now, but it still hasn't! Dad is downstairs slouched on the couch watching TV and as he listened to the loud reverberations of Bea Arthur's voice through his bedroom's floorboards, he pushes the little tackle box far under his bed, back in the corner where Mom won't see it when she's vacuuming his floor.

Inside the little navy plastic container is a large, regal looking lure that he's spent all his newspaper delivering savings on.

"The Night of Desirable Objects," he whispers as though it's a prayer.


	5. When Olivia was Fourteen

Olivia and Nick are fourteen when the counselors announce that this will be their last year at the camp. There have been some "questionable" results with some of the rehabilitated campers, though the councilors aren't specific what kind of results those are.. state said it wasn't getting enough funding to pay for the rehabilitation which was usually a year round affair, though like in Nick and Olivia's case they're considered the 'Live-In Campers' because they haven't gone home since they arrived.

Olivia and Nick wander through the forest with their bug net and her copy of Audubon's Guide to Birds of Florida. The past seven years they've been here, they spend much of the free time they have searching out interesting birds that live in the area Camp New Start is at. Today they've caught _Geotrygon chrysia, _the Key West Quail-dove. As Nick untangles it from their bug net, Olivia begins to flip through the guide book.

Nick holds the bird on the ground and then steps on its head with a soft crunch. The bird flaps around aimlessly for a few minutes as Olivia puts a check mark next to the finch's name and shuts the book.

"We've finally found all fifty birds we were looking for," she announces proudly.

"Awesome!" he holds his hand up for a high-five, but she looks away, looking at the dead bird on the ground.

Olivia isn't someone who high-fives.

"So about the camp closing down," he starts nervously.

"What about it?" she asks as she kicks some ground cover at the dead bird.

"Olive, I don't know what I'd do outside of here," Nick says in a voice that conveys fear.

She glances over at him. "Live?"

"I don't want to leave camp."

"I do feel good here," she admits, frowning at the thought she'll have to move back with Rach and her mother.

"You're why I stay here." He touches her hand, something she's not used to but, she lets him.

"Oh."

He leans in and puts his lips on the side of her neck. She jerks back from him, caught off guard, but doesn't deny how warm she suddenly feels.

"Olive," he says softly. "You won't be a whore. I love you. Men who sleep with whores don't love them."

She ponders it for a moment and then nods. "All right."

The only sex ed they've had has been in health class and it mostly told them that sex something two people do when they're in love. Olivia certainly isn't in love with Nick, but as long as he loves her, it changes things. As long as she isn't a whore, it's okay.

He moves her onto the ground, pulling off his shorts and removing his shirt. She hesitantly follows suit, folding her clothes neatly on the ground. He kneels between her legs and Olivia feels like she's participating in a scientific study, feels like she's vulnerable.

"I don't want to be on the bottom," she says in a moment of panic and scrabbles out from underneath him.

She pushes him on his back and he makes a startled cry at her force. Biology takes over, thousands of years of instinct and it takes only a few fumbled, awkward moments before she on top of him and he's inside of her.

"The pine needles are poking into my back—" Nick starts to complain.

"Shut up!" she hisses, her blonde hair sticking to her face from the muggy Florida weather.

He squirms beneath her as the pine needles poke at him and she grabs him by the throat to hold him still. He begins to kick and protest, but the smile on his face gives away that the euphoria from lack of oxygen is what's keeping him from stopping her entirely.

Olivia holds him down, grimacing from the pain.

* * *

When the letter from Mr and Mrs Lane arrives at her home a few weeks after she's returned home to Rach and Mom, Olivia is hardly surprised. The Lanes come from old money and politics, high society folks that believe that anything broken can be fixed and stupidly believed that they could do the same for their son.

It comes in a large brown envelope, two scented sheets of highgrade cotton paper with gold leaf monograms at the top. There are other photocopied sheets behind it, but she knows that she's supposed to read the letter first, so she does.

"_Dear Olive,_

_We want to thank you for being such a good friend to our son._

_Nick loved you very much. Every letter he sent us was about you and how you were the best friend he could possibly have._

_Because you were so close to Nick, we feel it's only fair that we tell you how he died. It's too painful for us to write what happened, so we included a copy of the police report. Nick told us how much you enjoyed reading them, that you one day hope to join the FBI._

_We want to let you know that we'll always be here for you. If you ever need anything, please let us know. Nick once told us that you told him that you respected us because we were willing to do anything to protect and take care of him. You were right. We did everything imaginable to help him and you helped him see that. Thank you for being his friend._

_Mr Alan Lane and Mrs Patricia Ann Lane"_

Olivia glances up at the line _'Nick loved you very much'_. Nick hadn't loved her, he'd been obsessed—there was a very big difference. They'd even had a class on it at camp!

Nick was soft and weak and while it would have been nice to have someone to bounce ideas off, she'd never thought of him as an equal. But that was okay. She folds the letter up and put it in the envelope to look at the copy of the police report, which she's sure they were able to get because of their connexions.

The cause of death is listed as 'head trama' and the police notes state that when the Lanes cme home from a day of shopping, he walked out onto their penthouse balcony and jumped off. She closes her eyes for a moment to imagine him falling from the sky to land on the sidewalk below. She does peek one eye open to see what story he was on. Sixteen? She closes her eyes again and with an amused smile, pictures the blood spatter from his head on the cement.

"Splat!"


	6. When Peter was Fourteen

Peter is fourteen when he starts hearing Walter's voice. His dad's been gone for almost a year after Walter is taken away for getting one of his laboratory technicians killed in an explosion and Mom's… Well, Walter may not have pulled the trigger, but he might as well have. Sometimes he can't fall asleep because all he can see is her body slumped in the sitting room, gun still in her hand and brain matter sprayed all over her beloved floral draperies.

Lately he's been hearing a low humming in his ears, building up but fading away after a while. He'd originally attributed it to tinnitus, but now at the quiet dinner table as he pushes his peas around his plate near his mashed potatoes, he hears,

"_I'm down in the basement."_

Peter jerks his head up from his plate and looks around the room, completely startled.

"What is it?" his Aunt Karen, his mother's sister, asks.

He looks back down at the green peas on his plate. "I thought I heard something—"

"_I'm down in the basement," _his father calls out again.

"Did someone leave the TV on?" Peter asks nervously, his eyes darting around.

"No," his Uncle September says, his bare brows knotting slightly. "Is everything okay?"

"I thought I heard something," Peter mumbles, not meeting their eyes. "I must be imagining things."

"_**I'm down in the basement."**_

Peter pretends he doesn't hear Walter and they all continue on with their dinner.

* * *

Peter likes the farm he lives on with his aunt and uncle. It meant that Rufus could come with him and it also meant privacy. Peter likes getting to wander around the fields all day with the lunch his aunt makes for him and packs in an old knapsack. Sometimes he draws in his sketchbook and other times he and Rufus play fetch with an old knotted sock. Last week, he even found a dead raccoon on the edge of the property. Its body was bloated in the fall sunlight, the small legs sticking up and out as though they were attached to a balloon. For some reason the flies aren't really interested in it and Peter wonders if maybe it's too cold—flies are only active in places over 52 degrees.

This afternoon his uncle finds him, his work boots stomping down the dying alfalfa and his denim overalls bringing the soft earthy smell of Gene, the farm's cow. His uncle sits down next to him, taking off his worn felt fedora so that the sun reflects on his polished smooth bald head. His eyes land on the dead raccoon.

"Oh good. I was beginning to wonder if I'd caught that little son of bitch." He doesn't express any emotion, but Peter can tell he's pleased. "I bet that's what you've been hearing during dinner."

"Yeah," Peter lies.

They're quiet and Peter knows it's because his uncle isn't sure how to go about "I know this past year has been hard on you. I think it's really great you're able to teach yourself from all those books you brought. I never liked public school."

Peter wonders if it's because his uncle never had hair and looked like something from a science fiction film.

Quiet again, the warm sunlight shifts slightly and momentarily blinds him, which makes him think of explosions. "Uncle September?"

His uncle turns back to him. "Yes?"

This next part is hard for him, but he has to know the answer. "Was my dad crazy? The newspapers said he was."

"The brilliant are always considered crazy, Peter. It's hard for people to understand genius and they're quick to judge when something goes wrong." Uncle September puts a reassuring hand on Peter's shoulder. "That woman who died was caught in a freak accident. Your father would never have allowed someone to get hurt intentionally."

As they turn their attention back to the dead raccoon, Peter can't help but silently disagree.


	7. When Olivia was Seventeen

Olivia is seventeen when she kills her first person. To be fair, when she left the house that evening, she had really just gone out to buy herself heavier dumbbells. Her stepdad is an army officer and surprisingly they get along well—she likes the rules and orders he sets and he likes that she's a teenager willing to respect them. This evening she's buying the new dumbbells because he's agreed to help her get ready for the FBI's physical tests.

She's parked at the far side of the Kmart parking lot, up against a warehouse next door and a few spaces down from the parking lot light. Her mind is on things like her German midterm, the academy tests she wants to get ready for, that this weekend her stepdad's going to take her out to the range for target practice—not on the fact that she's a young woman walking alone in dark parking lot.

She's unlocked the car and set her plastic bags on the backseat with her handbag when she realizes someone is behind her. She glances back to see a man wearing a black stocking cap with a gun in his hand.

"Give me your wallet, bitch!" he snarls and she freezes, completely unsure what to do. He isn't patient though and jabs the gun at her. "I **said**, give me your wallet, bitch!"

"Okay! Okay! I put it in the backseat!" she whimpers, leaning into the car.

With her right hand she takes out her wallet and with her left… she turns around and she holds out her wallet, making sure to let her hand tremble. He takes another step to her to close the distance and before he can fully reach to take her wallet, her left hand—the one clutching one of her brand new dumbbells—catches him in the side of the head.

Olivia has very strong arms and force of the blow sends him flying. She doesn't take the opportunity to flee, though. Instead she hurries over to him and when he tries to get up, she slams the solid metal into his face, listening to his eye sockets shatter and the bridge of his nose crunch. His gun has fallen from his hands and she snatches it up, sticking it in the back of her waistband.

The man's face and head are bleeding all over the parking lot, his fingers twitching. Curious, Olivia crouches over him and rifles through his pocket until she finds his wallet. She opens it and looks at his driver's license then checks to see how much money he had on him. Eighty bucks.

Taking her new money and new gun, she walks back over to her car, humming Wagner.

* * *

"What is this world coming to?" her stepdad comments as Olivia walks into the kitchen the next morning.

He's cooking everyone scrambled eggs while watching the small black and white tv on the kitchen counter while Rachel is sitting at the kitchen table, her eyes glued to the television.

"What is it?" Olivia asks as she decides weather she's going to have sourdough or wheat bread for toast.

"Look," Rach says, pointing to the screen.

Olivia turns up the volume as a reporter flashes the mug-shot of a familiar face. "—man was found last night in the Kmart parking lot, beaten in the face with a blunt object. He was taken to the hospital, where he was kept on life support. He died this morning from the amount of damage he sustained to his brain. He was later identified from fingerprints as John Mosley, a suspected bank robber. If you have any information about this crime, please contact the local police."

From behind her, Rach asks, "Isn't that where you went last night?"

"Yes," Olivia said casually, hoping there's still salsa in the fridge—she really wants chili verde to eat with her eggs.

"Jeez, that could have been you, Liv!" Rach jumps up from her seat and runs over to her, throwing her arms around her from behind to hold her in a tight hug. "Promise me you'll be careful."

Olivia allows her sister to hold her, hoping that she remembers the five-second rule. "I always am, Rach."

Rach seems satisfied and pulls away, smiling. "Good."

As Olivia decides on sourdough, she pulls some neatly folded bills out of her trouser pockets. "Hey, Rach. Want eighty bucks?"


	8. When Peter was Seventeen

Peter is seventeen when he kills his first person. He'd planned it out in great detail, wanting to make sure it was perfect. The idea originally came about when his biochemisty professor's lab technician Tess had made a snide remark about Walter and then took further hold when he came across 'Hit Man', an instructional book for killing people.

"_So smug on her pedestal,"_ his father growls. _"Blow 'er up!"_

Peter passed his GED at sixteen and immediately left his aunt and uncle's guardianship, escaping to the big city of New York to study science on a scholarship. He's majoring in biochemistry just like his father, hoping he'll be remembered as the Bishop who wasn't psycho. He's learned how to juggle his heavy workload with Walter's constant distractions, but even he has to admit that that senior Bishop has pretty good ideas, so he decides he's going to make a bomb that will envelop Tess in a universe of fire, the same way Walter's lab assistant died.

And with skills in chemistry, Peter has no problem constructing a bomb with basic household materials, absolutely untraceable. Tess works late in the lab, all alone, so really, it's like she's asking to die. He finds her tonight sitting at her worktable, her back turned to him with her headphones on. There's a large book on one of the shelves and as Peter gets closer, he hits her over the head with it and she falls to the ground, out cold.

"_Blow 'er up!" _

"Shut up! I can't concentrate when you're blabbering away," Peter snaps at his father, wishing he could just have a moment of peace as he pulls the delicate bomb out of his book bag.

Once he mixes in the vinegar, he should have about five minutes to get away and he really can't afford to mess this up. He sets the mason jar bomb down next to her and carefully pours in the vinegar he had stored in a phial in his coat pocket. Making sure Tess is still out, he grins wildly and makes a run for it.

"_**Blow 'er up!"**_

* * *

Standing at the memorial, looking at all the crying students standing around the large photo of Tess, Peter decides that he'd going to get rid of that molecular studies lecturer he saw last year. _Scientists,_ he decides, _are what's wrong with the world. _

"_Good thinking, son,"_ his father hisses.


End file.
